Needless Things: Deadful Harvest Moon

Beneath the Deadful Harvest Moon, the fields are steeped in ghostly rune, cornstalks whisper with brittle breath sighs, their roots entwined with deaths dark eyes.

A lantern sky of crimson glare, bleeds its omen through the air, reapers walk with hollow eyes, their scythes gleam sharp as lullabies.

Pumpkins rot with twisted grins, seeds of sorrow sprout within, every stalk a bone, each grain a tomb, fed by the Deadful Harvest Moon.

Crows cry sermons, black and dire, perched like priests upon a pyre, while shadows stretch and silence swoons, to praise the Deadful Harvest Moon. NNN